Out of the Pan

"Now where is that folio...", I mutter under my breath, sweeping maps and charts from the shelves to the floor. A still, heavy air fills the otherwise quiet room--perhaps an evening rainstorm will help cover my escape.

Nervous cooing from the carrier pigeon next to me breaks my daze and I pause to hear the faint voices down the corridor growing nearer.

“Micael, you haven’t explained anything!”

“We need answers!”

I glance up from my stack of papers to the door latch. In my haste I must have forgotten to lock myself in. I quickly cross the room and slide the latch into its chamber, just as their footsteps reach the door.

“Open up, or we’ll see ourselves in!” Seamus shouts, pounding against the oak. From all the shouting I can tell that there must be four or more of them out there.

“Fintan and I are doing a bit of reading,” I shout back, winking at the anxious bird on his perch, “I’ll call for you if we need your interpretation!”

“You’d damn well better let us in, Mike, there’s no chance you're walking away from here!”

I return to the papers I had been sorting through and spot the mottled leather folio I had been looking for. I quickly remove a sheet of folded parchment and a small bundle of bonds that I had stashed in preparation for this scenario. I tear off a small section of the parchment and scribble a short note to Nora:

“Dearest, I am leaving Kildare. I will be with you soon.

The king's boots are kicking at the nest, please be safe.

All my love.

--- Micael”

I rolled the note up and tied it to Fintan’s leg, carrying him to the open window at the back of the room.

“Don’t dally,” I whisper to the bird and toss him through the window. His wings unfurl as he glides from the tower toward his home in Carlow.

“Right, now, for my own escape…” I mumble, glancing around the room as my visitors begin to coordinate their assaults on the door.

The walls are covered in book shelves and old charts, generally useful, but not in this particular instance. The only way out, besides the busy door, is the window, roughly forty feet down to the sod.

“We’ve got it this time, boys, one good push!” I can hear the men outside rallying for another battery.

“I’ve seen you lot in the fray, and I'd wager you're matched better to a dollhouse,” I call back.

More desperately, I begin digging through the baskets and cabinets of the study, finally resting my eyes upon the worn braided rug in the center of the room. I scoop the rug into my arms and dash over to the windowsill.

“Please, Mary, let this work,” I whisper, frantically tearing the seams and uncoiling the braided wool. I toss the loose end of the braid through the window and work quickly to unravel the last few coils. Fastening the braid to a chair-leg, I wedge my makeshift grapple against the corner of the window, and climb up onto the sill. Nervously, I tug on the braid to test its sturdiness; the fibers groan as they bind together.

“Please, please, please,” I beg under my breath, “don’t drop me.”

Easing all of my weight onto the braid, it holds, and I let out a sigh of relief as I repel to the ground.

“…THREE!” I hear from above me as the latch breaks free and the men spill into the room after me.

“He’s gone,” I can hear Seamus fuming, “through the window!”

Dropping into the bushes at the foot of the tower, I draw a knife from my coat and hurl it up toward the windowsill. The blade flips end over end and lodges in the wood, neatly severing the braid.

Without a cautionary glance, I sprint through the hedges and into the night.

“Micael, you bastard! You best pray until we catch you…” Seamus screams after me, but the words become lost as the estate is swallowed by the forest behind me.

A few kilometers through the glade brings me to the cave I had stocked with supplies a few months prior, in case of an event like this. None too soon, either, as the rain begins to sift through the forest canopy. I duck into the cave entrance and squeeze through a small tunnel into a dark chamber. Fumbling around, I eventually find the candlestick and matchbook I had left among the supplies. I manage to rig my coat as a curtain for the narrow entry tunnel, hopefully concealing the light from my candle as I make my preparations for daylight.